


A Misfit Working Holiday In New York

by Morraine



Series: Misfits [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Teen Wolf (TV), Thor (Movies)
Genre: BAMF!Stiles, Emotional Healing, F/M, Fix-It, Friendship, Gen, Good Deaton, Good Peter Hale, Healing Derek Hale, Lydia is a genius, M/M, Magic, Shy Derek Hale, Slow Build Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski, Spark!Stiles, Stiles And The Suit, Stiles got money now, Stiles-centric, Tony adopts Stiles, Way More Plot Than Porn, adventure galore, blowing up microwaves, good living, healing Peter Hale, improbable science, model!derek, sorry about the science, vegetarian/vegan, working holiday
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-09-27
Packaged: 2019-03-22 14:11:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 11,427
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13765827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morraine/pseuds/Morraine
Summary: Despite the looming threat of the Alpha pack, Stiles, Lydia, and Derek stay in New York to explore a possible alliance with SHIELD and further their new friendships. While there, new opportunities arise and they find themselves immersed much more in secret dealings than they could have anticipated. Not all of it is good, but the things that are good are beyond amazing for the disillusioned, hurt friends. Short though the working holiday may be, time well spent with incredible people allows each of them to grow beyond the hurt feelings and anger and discover not only what is really important but also their true potential.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My awesome and lovely readers,
> 
> You have waited a very (very, very) long time for the sequel to "Three Misfits In New York". To show you my appreciation for your wonderful comments and continued dedication I decided to post the first chapter, EAD style. It is only one chapter, and a little rough around the edges at that, but there will be more eventually. Unfortunately I can't make any promises as to when that will be. Just know that I'm working on "A Misfit Working Holiday In New York" and am determined to finish what I started. 
> 
> Thanks again for your incredible support! Writing for you is so much fun. :)
> 
> -Morraine

**Chapter 1**

 

The peace doesn't even last until the next morning. Stiles, now sharing a spartan set of rooms with Derek at SHIELD headquarters while Lydia stays with Tony and Pepper, is woken from his movie-induced slumber on the couch by the frantic chiming of his phone.

"What the hell?" he complains. "Mmggrrr, make it stop, Sourwolf."

Derek heaves an annoyed sigh, takes the phone from the coffee table and unlocks the screen with easy swipes. "You have thirteen new chat messages."

Stiles knows that he should be offended that Derek of all people knows his complicated unlock sequence, but he is feeling too foggy to care. "From whom? Why are you so unhelpful?" he asks grumpily, already burrowing his face back into his couch cushion. "S'not my dad, is it? And please don't say it's Scott."

"Alright. I won't say it's Scott."

Stiles groans at the droll answer. "God, _why_." When Derek makes to hand him the phone, Stiles tucks his hands into his armpits and curls into himself like a cranky groundhog. "Nuh-uh. You went for it, you read it."

"Stiles. They're _your_ messages. From your best friend."

"Ex. _Ex_ -best friend. And I exercise the right to ignore them, dude," Stiles replies stubbornly. "Also, if I had to guess, I'd say Scott stalked my dad and Lydia's mom from the airport and realized that we didn't come back with them. In which case he most likely accosted them and asked what's up with that, got a clear and concise answer and chose not to believe it. Because he's a dumbass."

Derek's scowl lightens and he looks like he wants to smile as he reads through the messages. "Huh. Right on every count. It's kind of embarrassing for Scott." He plays around on the phone and then tosses it back onto the coffee table. "I put it on flight mode. Go back to sleep."

"Wasn't really asleep," Stiles mumbles. When Derek only raises an eyebrow at him, he uncurls and scrubs his face with his hands. "Fine, I was, but not anymore. You want something from the kitchen?"

Derek shakes his head. "I'm good. It's late anyway, I think I'll turn in." 

"Just so you can get up bright and early for your secret superhero training," Stiles grins. "Maybe I could come watch sometime." At Derek's slight frown, he hastily backpedals, "Or not."

The frown becomes even more pronounced; Derek now looks downright forbidding. But the words that finally leave his mouth throw Stiles for a loop. "Why wouldn't you be welcome?"

Stiles gapes at him. "Uh, what? Excuse me, but why _would_ I? Super secret ninja training and everything. For super people like Steve and you? Ring a bell?"

"This whole training thing isn't just for me," Derek says slowly, as if he can't comprehend how Stiles even got the idea in his head that he is excluded. "Your dad made it very clear that he wants you to learn something. _I_ want you to learn something. Or did you forget the Alpha pack?"

"Yeah, no, but I'm a squishy human beginner and you and Steve are not. You'd take me down in one second flat and I can take a lot, but that'd be just not cool."

Derek scowls, clearly done with the conversation. "Go to sleep. You'll join Steve and I tomorrow, no discussion." With that he turns and stalks out of the small, shared living area, not giving Stiles a chance to protest.

oOo

True to his announcement, Derek shakes Stiles awake at an ungodly hour and orders him to use the bathroom and eat breakfast. Stiles complies with ill grace, until Phil Coulson, who has sneaked into their suite like the ninja Stiles has suspected him to be all along, announces that they'll start the day at the shooting range before continuing on to self-defence and martial arts.

The elevator trip to the basement is short and only interrupted by a lazily waving Clint, who joins them at the ground level. In his hand he holds a cardboard holder with four paper cups of coffee, the aroma teasing Stiles awake way better than Coulson's sneak attack earlier.

"Bribery?" Coulson asks as he takes one of the cups.

Clint shrugs. "I made Nat find out Lydia's phone number and called her for grovelling tips. She said caffeine is the way to go, and I'd better find a coffee shop that had vegan everything." He hands Stiles a macadamia latte and takes the last one in hand. "Not sure what coffee is doing for your people, but here you go, Hale. I went with black, but there's sugar and creamer if you like."

Derek accepts the offering and astounds everyone but Stiles by dumping four creamers and three packets of sugar into the hot brew.

"Damn, you could give Stark a run for his money," Clint mutters.

Just then, the chime of the bell announces their arrival. As the elevator stops and allows them out into the basement, Stiles can't contain an impressed whistle.

"Man, that's some shooting range," he comments, gesturing at the vast number of booths and the fully stocked weapon lockers at the far sides.

"Yup, it's almost as good as the one at Stark Tower, but don't tell Stark that. Give me the key, Phil, I'll pick out something for the probies."

Coulson hands Clint a key, types his authorization code word into a terminal and directs Clint to hand Derek and Stiles a handgun each.

"Your father mentioned in passing that you are somewhat familiar with small calibre weapons, especially the Glock 19," Coulson says. "If you don't mind, I'd like to assess your abilities before we start our training unit."

"Cool with me." Stiles goes over to a booth table and begins to dismantle his Glock. It only takes a moment for him to lay out all the pieces, pause, and then put them back together.

"Not bad. Did your father teach you?" Clint asks. 

"Yeah, he had me do it as some kind of occupational therapy when he had to bring me to work." Stiles slots the magazine back and puts the finished gun down. "Done. How about you, Sourwolf? Did you pick up something along the way?"

Derek nods. "A friend taught Laura and I when he noticed that we felt hunted."

Stiles winces, because _ouch_. "Did he know about the hunters and stuff?" he asks as tactfully as he can.

"No. Just knowing that we were running from bad people was enough for him." Derek completes the task without too much trouble and puts the gun back down. "He was a beat cop, so this is actually the only model I've dealt with."

"We all started small," Clint says. "Come on, both of you do it once more and then we can go shoot some targets. If you're doing well, we might even be able to advance to moving targets while you're in the city."

"Yes!" Stiles crows and sets to taking the weapon apart like a fiend. "C'mon, Derek, don't be a lamewolf."

Soon they advance to the shooting lanes and listen to Clint's instructions.

"First distance is ten feet," Clint says, cocking his own weapon. "Green light means go, red light means stop. Take your time but don't hesitate. Also, wear your ear protection until the lights flash red or you'll regret it."

Stiles hastily puts on his earmuffs. He sincerely hopes that Derek will be fine with all the noise but decides not to hover. Instead he takes the ammo from Clint and fills his clip. Meanwhile four paper targets come running along the lanes.

The lights flash green and a horn blares. Clint shouts, "Go!" and off they go. 

Stiles takes a minute to observe his teachers. While Clint shoots like a pro and hits his mark every time, there is something not quite fluid about him. To Stiles, it's obvious that handguns, and likely any firearm, are not his first choice. Coulson, however, is all understated elegance and efficient deadliness. He positions himself with nary a whisper of his expensive suit and puts the whole clip into his target paper's head area in less than fifteen seconds.

Feeling a little guilty for ogling him, Stiles then turns his attention to Derek. He is in the Fighting Stance with his feet slightly apart, the left minimally before the right, and the weapon raised to eye level. When the first shot goes off, he flinches slightly, clearly communicating the discomfort at the sudden noise. Suddenly it makes a lot more sense for werewolves not to use guns against hunters, even though it would solve so many problems.

As if he's listened to Stiles' thoughts, Clint calls for a stop and goes over to Derek's side.

"Your hearing bothering you?" he asks.

Derek's jaw clenches. "I'll deal."

"Sure you will, though you don't have to deal right at the beginning of our training. If our gear won't cut it, Stark might have better ear protection for you," Clint says. "Or if he doesn't, he can invent it. It's not as if he wouldn't make a shit ton of money with it later."

"Sir has a wide range of ear protection for his guests," JARVIS announces out of the blue, causing everybody, even Coulson, to jump a little. A light above a locked cabinet in the back starts to blink. "Mr. Hale should be able to find a set to meet his needs here."

"You have JARVIS at SHIELD?" Stiles asks, mouth open in astonishment. "I thought you guys and Tony weren't very tight."

"Not voluntarily, and no, we aren't," Coulson replies. His face is a mask of stoic exasperation, as if he is aware that he should have known better and is now annoyed with himself for being surprised.

JARVIS takes the moment of awkward silence to explain, "Sir has tasked me with ensuring Mr. Stilinski and Mr. Hale's safety. Protecting all their vital functions is the first point of order in my protocols, therefore I took the liberty of accessing SHIELD's mainframe to aid you in your training."

"Way cool, if a little creepy," Stiles says cheerfully, rallying quickly at this sign of Tony's overprotectiveness. 

"A little?" Clint mouthes incredulously, then jumps again when the doors of the cabinet open by themselves. 

"May I recommend the red pair for Mr. Hale?" JARVIS asks. "They should do for today."

"Awesome, thanks, JARVIS, my man," Stiles calls as he jogs over to the cabinet. "Try them on, sourwolf." He lobs the earmuffs at the werewolf, grinning when Derek catches them effortlessly.

Derek's next turn goes a lot better and the bullets all hit the paper target.

"It's only ten feet," he mutters when Stiles whoops. "Your turn."

Feeling like he can finally do his father proud, Stiles positions himself similarly to Derek, waits for Clint's, "Go!" and fires. There is no hesitation as he hits the head, chest and groin area of the target with five rounds each.

"Vicious," Clint smirks and fist-bumps Stiles. "I see that your father really taught you how to use the Glock. What about a Beretta or Sig?"

"I played with every weapon at his station at one point," Stiles admits, "and I know how to hit a target from a short distance."

"I'll take you through the paces before we move on, but that sounds promising." Clint claps Stiles on the shoulder. "Phil can teach Hale the basics; there's no sense in you not advancing when you're so far ahead already."

Stiles spends the rest of the morning dismantling and reassembling increasingly larger and heavier weapons. After each successful drill Clint allows him turns on the range to gauge his proficiency. Finally Stiles meets his match in a rifle that the police in Beacon Hills don't use. As he finds rifles awkward at best with his long, flailing limbs he isn't too upset about it, even though firing one is fun enough.

Not long after, Clint and Phil end the lesson and help Stiles and Derek with the clean-up.

"How was it?" Stiles wants to know as they sit and refill clips, carefully gauging Derek's facial expression. "I saw you advancing to fifty feet distance in like five minutes. That's so awesome, dude!"

"It was mostly loud," Derek replies, distractedly putting the last round into the clip. "Also, don't call me dude."

" _Duuude_ ," Stiles retorts obnoxiously, causing Clint to snicker. "Seriously, what's up? Why aren't you proud of yourself?"

"Please excuse the interruption, Mr. Stilinski, but according to your agenda, you're expected in the canteen for lunch before Agent Coulson escorts you and Mr. Hale to your martial arts lesson," JARVIS announces. "You have one hour."

Derek straightens up immediately. "We should go. I don't want to keep Steve waiting."

Though he often ignores his better manners, Stiles does know when not to prod and accepts this without complaints. He even gives Derek some space and latches onto Clint instead, ready to pester him about the second part of today's training and how they're doing keeping Steve fed and watered.

Clint, however, is quickly forgotten when the super soldier in question greets them just outside the shooting range.

"Sorry for the ambush but I wanted to be there on your first day and show you around a little." Steve quirks a smile at Derek. "And I also might have wanted to show off my new training buddy, make my usual partners feel a little bad." 

"I can believe it. Great to see you," Stiles grins and only flails a little when Steve claps him on the shoulder. "So, the infamous canteen? I could eat."

"It's not _that_ bad," Steve says rather unconvincingly, slightly edging away from Coulson's side-eye.

"The food they serve is completely adequate to nourish all of SHIELD's personnell in their various fields of expertise," Coulson retorts a little sniffily.

"Yeah, but is it _good_?" Clint counters, crossing his arms.

He and Coulson stare at each other for so long that Stiles gets a little uncomfortable.

"Uh, how about we check it out today and make plans for tomorrow if it's actually garbage?" he asks.

It takes another couple of seconds for Coulson to end the stare-down. "Acceptable, Mr. Stilinski. Captain, if you'd lead the way?"

"Sure." Steve begins walking but soon falls into step with Derek. "So, how did you like the shooting? Personally, I hate it, makes my ears ring like a mother, though it gets better with Stark's little ear thingies ..."

Stiles can't help but feel a little fuzzy in the chest as Steve easily talks at Derek. He's not expecting an answer, just keeps Derek company and draws him out of whatever funk the werewolf is currently in. Derek's shoulders are still a little tight, but Stiles knows that he's already relaxing.

Meanwhile, Clint tells him what horrors await them in the canteen, spinning tales of mushy, tasteless cauliflower, leathery steaks with thin gravy and mashed potatoes from a box. Coulson insists that it isn't that bad, but Stiles isn't ready to trust his word, especially when Derek actually balks at entering the hall.

"That bad, huh?" he asks with a wry smile, inwardly sniggering about Derek's involuntary mime performance.

"Too many chemicals," is all Derek has to say. To his credit, he tries hard not to wrinkle his nose.

"I told you so!" Clint crows. "And I've got Lassie here to prove it. They feed us crap, Phil, be a man and finally admit it."

"I'm sorry, but I'll have to join the mutiny," Steve says with a charming half-smile. "Perhaps Director Fury can make different arrangements for his agents?"

"Not as quickly as everybody would like, apparently," Coulson sighs, but he does take out his smartphone and taps a short message.

As the others talk and make ineffective plans, Stiles remembers that he has a fuck ton of money now and can invite his friends to lunch if he likes. And he likes, a lot. He sneaks his phone out, googles Indian places in the area and places a big rush order.

"Food arrives in twenty," he informs everyone when he's done, sliding the phone back into his pocket. "Indian, in case you're interested."

"Stiles," Derek begins, but Stiles waves him off.

"No one here is going to be eating the canteen crap and apparently I can afford it now," Stiles tells him. "At least they didn't cry foul when I gave them my credit card number, so. Let's do the tour until lunch is here, yeah?"

Steve is the first to accept gracefully, followed by Clint and Coulson. Only Derek looks conflicted and Stiles knows that he has to nip the guilty feelings in the bud.

"Don't even start," he says quietly but sternly as they trot after Steve. "It's my money and I can invite you to lunch if I want. Besides, I have to start spending it _somewhere_."

Derek's lips thin as he frowns. "You shouldn't have to pay for anything. You're a teenager." 

"And as such I eat a lot," Stiles smirks. "My dad will be happy to not have me eat him out of house and home any longer." He bumps his shoulder against Derek's. "Seriously, it's just lunch. Channel your inner hedonist and let people spoil you for a change."

Stiles' phone chimes. It's a message from Tony and Stiles pulls a face as he reads it.

 _Sourpuss is right, teenagers don't get to pay for boring things, least of all food. JARVIS rerouted the payment to me. Tell Coulson to stop being so miserly._

"Aw, come on," Stiles complains loudly, knowing that Tony is probably listening in. "Why? You gave me the credit card, let me use it!"

Sure enough, his phone chimes again. 

_No. Except if you want to buy non-boring porn. That I can allow. I might even learn something new._

"For crying out loud," Stiles groans, mortified beyond belief. "But. Thanks. We appreciate it." A brainwave hits him and he stops walking. "By the way, buyer is always invited, so get over here or we'll be mortally offended."

Clint frantically gestures for him to abort and Coulson also doesn't look thrilled. Derek, however, seems torn between appreciation for Tony's efforts and amusement at Stiles' ability to turn the tables on the billionaire. Steve is just plain amused and shows his approval with a gentle smile.

Another fuzzy feeling spreads in Stiles' chest area when Tony simply comments with, _On my way, don't eat all the samosas._

**End of chapter 1**


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You guys are awesome! Thanks for all your lovely and helpful comments! I really, really hope you'll like this update. May the Fourth be with you! :)

Chapter 2

 

They know that Tony's arrival is imminent because a troop of armed agents runs through the corridor they're in, weapons at the ready.

"He's a bit of a persona non grata here. I bet he comes in his suit," Clint smirks. "Let's not miss his grand entrance, eh? You," he stops a guard, "where will Iron Man touch down?"

"Looks like it will be the roof, sir," the harried agent replies and then runs after his group.

Coulson looks like he wants to facepalm, although he swallows his sigh and allows Steve to lead them upstairs.

"So much for secret headquarters," Clint whispers loudly enough for everyone to hear.

They climb several stairs at the end of which Stiles feels like he will heave out a lung if he has to walk one more step. All the others aren't even breathing hard and Stiles curses them quietly.

At least Iron Man hasn't landed yet, which is a small consolation. The sea of armed agents and a furious looking Fury, however, are not reassuring at all.

"There he comes," Clint says helpfully and points at a fast-moving, gleaming speck in the sky. "Drives flight security crazy when he takes the suit out to meet people."

Stiles manages to swallow back his lung and takes a couple of deep breaths before straightening up. Tony is eating up miles like they're nothing and then he's already slowing down and descending, all elegance and brute force in a shiny red and gold package.

Once he's touched down, the eerie, glowing eyes of the mask find Stiles and Tony's warped voice says, "Hey kid, thanks for the invite."

“Stilinski!” Fury shouts and turns to Stiles. He clasps his hands behind his back and looms like the world's most intimidating drill instructor. "Is there anything you'd like to say for yourself before I kick your ass back to your hick town?"

Put on the spot like that, Stiles' motor mouth takes over. It doesn't help that every single one of the fifty or so agents stares at him, eager to hear his response.

"Uhm, yeah, see, it all began when Cap and Clint mutinied in the face of your shitty canteen food, and since we were hungry I may or may not have ordered some Indian - in self-defence, you see - because who doesn't love Indian." He gulps in some air, ignores Clint's scandalized squawk at being thrown under the bus and continues, "As to Iron Man being here ... I may have told him to come because he kind of hijacked my payment for the order and as a decent human being I couldn't let that stand, alright. Besides, I thought he could use a break, because _hello_ , workaholic."

Mutters break out among the agents, coupled with envious looks at their small group. 

"I see. A regular bleeding heart, just my fucking luck." Fury's tone is gravelly but, incredibly, tinged with a touch of perverse amusement. "One last question, Stilinski. Did you, by chance, tell Stark to come in his suit? Think before you fess up, your continued existence depends on it."

"Excuse me, Fury, I'm not a circus pony performing for the unwashed masses," Tony snipes before Stiles can stutter out an answer. 

"Could have fooled me," Fury retorts unapologetically. He glares at both Tony and Stiles one last time and then bellows, "All right, people, the show is over! Get back to work! You have half an hour to submit requests for a new, improved food offer at HQ. Send them to Agent Coulson since you've apparently been whining to him anyway."

A loud cheer erupts and the tense atmosphere vanishes beautifully like mist on a warm morning as gun safeties are clicked back on and the weapons go back into their holsters. Amidst laughter and excited talking the agents rapidly leave the roof top.

"Now I see what happened with Pig Town," Tony says gleefully after opening his visor. His dark eyes are shining with mirth. "Congratulations, kid, you're a born trouble maker."

"Tell me about it," Derek quips. "I can't take him anywhere."

"But, but-" Stiles tries to defend himself.

"Save it for someone who cares," Tony counters, waving his protest away. "I tried to eat here once, ask Coulson how that went. Anyway, seeing how we still have five minutes: do you want to have a look at HQ from above?"

oOo

After a short but thoroughly exhilariating flight in Iron Man's arms they descend on the food which the delivery boy has left at the decoy reception and watch the short movie Clint has made of the adventure with Stiles' smartphone. Stiles sends it to Lydia to distract her from Pepper’s no doubt wonderful tour of Stark Industry’s science department and is about to send it to his father as well when Derek speaks up.

"You know that your father will have a stroke if he sees you up in the air like that, don't you?" the werewolf asks. "That suit isn't exactly passenger friendly."

"Yeah, you looked like a damsel in distress," Clint snickers. “Even shrieked a little like one.” 

Stiles is too giddy to care. "It was a manly shout and it was awesome and nothing you can say will ruin it for me." He presses send and slides the phone back into his pocket. "There it goes, dad will deal."

"That's my boy." Tony, who has stolen almost all of the samosas, smirks with satisfaction. "If you're good, I might let JARVIS put you in one of my older suits and take a little spin in my garage when you move back into the tower."

Stiles can't believe his ears and nearly bursts with excitement, but then he sobers and lets his shoulders slump. "Uh, define good?"

Clint roars with laughter while Derek buries his face in his hands.

"I promised to keep him safe," he mumbles. "You were there, Steve. How am I supposed to do that if Stark is sabotaging me at every turn? The sheriff will kill me."

"Don't be a drama queen, Hale." Tony swallows noisily. "I won't let him fly ... much, and I'll even disable the bigger weapons. Deal?"

"He won't leave the garage and you'll disable _all_ the weapons of the suit," Steve negotiates. "And I'll be there, in case something happens. Together, Derek and I might be able to keep it under control."

"Fine, whatever." Obviously finished with this part of their conversation, Tony then turns his attention to Coulson. "Now, how does the search for Banner go? The lab is nearly ready and I have a dozen new drones who need some sprucing up."

"Mr. Stark, Director Fury and I are still not sure that allowing you two to meet would be a good idea. Especially in New York, where a lot of people could be hurt if Dr. Banner had an ... episode."

"It's a great idea, and you know it," Tony counters. "Kid, tell him so. I've got it all planned out." 

Stiles would like nothing better, but on this point he has to side with Coulson; everybody has seen the Hulk on TV and the destructive power he possesses. "What if he really wants to stay hidden? You know, so he won't hurt any more people?" he asks, just to make sure that Tony won't run roughshot over everybody in the name of science, least of all Bruce Banner, who seems to do his best not to be a bother to anyone.

"Jeez, you're a boring lot, aren't you? I'd have expected more from you at least, kid." Tony seems genuinely miffed.

"Yeah, not really, and you know it," Stiles retorts, unwilling to be emotionally manipulated. "We had trouble staying alive with one single deranged alpha werewolf in town. I really don't want to find out how much worse Dr. Banner will be if he flips his shit. Especially if he’s basically indestructible."

"Succinctly put, Mr. Stilinski, thank you," Coulson says. "That is not to say that a cooperation wouldn't be beneficial, or that Dr. Banner doesn't deserve your offer. It's just that, right now, SHIELD does not have the means to contain a threat of this magnitude to the city. It might be better for everyone involved to acquire Dr. Banners agreement and goodwill _before_ we proceed further."

"Boring," Tony groans. 

Stiles knows he probably looks like a fanboy at Tony but he doesn't care. "Dude, if _you_ offer Dr. Banner your help instead of dragging him here, he might listen. You could offer him a lab and a house in the wilderness and have video chats about work and stuff. You're rich, you could totally make it work. Also, if _you_ ask, one science bro to another, he might even be cool with the SHIELD attachment, because let's face it, SHIELD will come knocking."

The corner of Coulson's mouth curls up slightly and Clint outright says, "Yeah, that could work."

"I'm shocked. How are you making so much sense, kid? And even more important, _why_?" Tony complains. "This was supposed to be an epic adventure: a first class trip to India, food poisoning from delicious, yet questionable street food, and a lot of sweeping Banner off his feet."

"Of course it was," Derek says flatly. "But now that this is off the table, can you please try and recruit him like a normal, sane person?"

"You could send him one of those e-mails," Steve says encouragingly. "With the attachment thingies to show him the lab in the wilderness. He'd like that, I'm sure."

Disgruntled, Tony chews on his food. "I hate you."

"There'll be enough opportunities to sweep Dr. Banner off his feet," Stiles consoles him and lightly bumps his shoulder against Tony's. "I mean, it's _you_. Who doesn't want to work with you? I don't think he'll be able to say no."

Tony only huffs and reaches for the chana masala, but he can't quite hide the pleased look in his eyes.

After lunch they see Tony off and finish their tour of the building. Stiles discovers a huge armory where experts also tinker with new weapon designs, then sees the hall where the utilities for agents in action are stored as well as the war rooms and at last the gym floor.

"Physical fitness is a non-negotiable requirement for active field agents and takes up a good portion of their work day," Coulson explains as Stiles gapes at the dozens of agents warming up and sparring with partners. "It's a little different for analysts, but we encourage them to keep fit and up to date with their self-defense training. A certain minimal weapon competence is always required and has to be renewed every three months."

"Yeah, we can't afford to lose our analysts to every little criminal on the streets, so you better pay attention," Clint says. "The lockers are this way, I've got gym clothes for you."

Stiles, Derek, and Steve follow Clint and swiftly change into black sweats and T-shirts. After that, they leave the public area behind and enter a small gym hall. The doors sport huge locks, both manual and electronical. When Derek tells them that he can also hear the hum of some kind of machine, Clint admits that they have a couple of small EMF emitters running to prevent spies from filming or listening in on Steve and Derek.

"And you," he tells Stiles and raises an eyebrow at his surprised expression. "We definitely don't want others to know what you can do with your mountain ash."

"Oh. Right. So, what am I supposed to do while Sourwolf and Cap get their training in?"

Clint rolls his shoulders. "First we're getting warmed up. Then I'll let you punch me for a while, and last I'll show you some mean tricks to get an attacker off your back. If you're still standing by then, I'll show you how to get one over your sourwolf."

They start with a slow jog to give their bodies a chance to keep the food down. Derek and Steve are going increasingly faster as the number of laps increases, but Clint soon takes Stiles aside to a corner and finishes the warm-up with isometric excercises and a lot of deep stretches. After that he helps Stiles into gloves, dons protective gear and first shows and then encourages him to punch the pads on his hands with all that he has.

This proves to be astoundingly therapeutic; once Stiles has begun, it is worryingly easy to beat out the toxic feelings about Scott and the situation in Beacon Hills. It all boils to the surface: Scott’s selfish behaviour, his callous treatment of Derek and, worst of all, his utter indifference to the fact that everybody but Isaac is not okay with how things went down.

"And break," Clint calls when Stiles can barely see straight with all the sweat in his eyes. He lowers the pads. "Take ten, drink some water and watch the others." He then vanishes and leaves Stiles alone with his churning thoughts.

Sipping his water, Stiles watches Steve teach Derek one grip or throw after the other. First he demonstrates on Derek, then guides the werewolf through the steps until he's secure enough to really put speed and power into the moves. The ensuing scuffles look brutal to Stiles, but both Derek and Steve always slow down after a few minutes and come back for more. Even now, after only a few sessions with Steve, Derek looks so much more competent, even kind of graceful.They invite Stiles to join them, but he's still winded and declines.

"Martial arts are definitely the right call for Hale," Clint says, sitting down next to Stiles. "The Cap has taken a few Jeet Kune Do lessons but we'll have to find a trainer soon if Hale wants to continue, and he really should."

Before them, Derek throws Steve off and jumps against the wall of the gym, somersaulting. He lands right behind Steve, grabs him around the chest and throws him with all his might against another wall. Steve manages to somewhat break his fall and not smash his skull and then they're in a clinch again, grappling and cursing and grinning. 

“I don’t get how people can live with getting beat up like that,” Stiles admits. “I mean, it looks way cool and is super useful, but you get like, you know, majorly beat up. Which is painful, even with super healing.” An especially hard swing sends Derek to the floor and causes blood to gush from his nose. “Ow, ouch!” He glances at Clint. “Does that make me a wimp?”

Clint smiles crookedly. “No, just a normal human being. To be a fighter like that, a bit of masochism sure doesn’t hurt. But it’s more than that. It’s simply in some people’s genes. Some people are fighters, just like others are born helpers or con artists or perverts.” 

“That’s kind of deep.”

“Naw, not really. In my profession you just learn to put people in categories, and fast. There are the obvious, with dozens of subcategories which often depend on the situation. Sussing them out in a split second _will_ save your life sooner or later.”

“You got an example?” Stiles prompts.

“How about we turn it around and you tell me what you think of the Cap. Then, I'll tell you whether or not I agree,” Clint says. "And whether you'd be dead in case of emergency." 

“I shouldn’t. He can hear me,” Stiles replies, uncomfortable.

“He won’t care,” Clint assures him. “Come on, give it a shot.”

Letting his breath whistle through his teeth, Stiles takes a moment to gather his thoughts. “Well, Cap definitely has a strong moral code. As a non-criminal I definitely don’t feel threatened by him, even though he’s got these huge muscles and this ridiculous shoulder to waist ratio and could squash me like a bug if he wanted.”

Clint chuckles.

“But,” Stiles continues, “even though he vibes me as a generally super nice guy who hates firearms, he’s got this vigilante thing going on. I bet he makes mincemeat of the bad guys without batting an eye. And I peg him as someone to keep a bad guy from killing you, but to run off as soon as he knows you can hold your own. Or, in reverse, if I were a bad guy, I'd be shitting myself but not exactly fear for my life if I'm not a nazi or some other sort of murdering low-life. Also, I’d wager my jeep that he’s a really sassy son of a bi-”

“Language, Stiles,” Steve calls casually. He and Derek end their fight and, after a hearty handshake, stroll over.

“Language? Seriously?” Stiles snorts. “Anyway, how did I do?”

“Not bad, but that wasn’t too hard,” Clint says. “I’ll find someone else for you to profile. Someone you don't know. We squishy humans have to be on top of our game in this environment.”

It’s a lesson Stiles is looking forward to, though he wonders how far he’ll have to run in case Clint ever asks him to profile Fury. Even Coulson for all his bland agreeableness seems kind of like a dicey subject.

“But for today it’s enough,” Steve says with a kind smile. “I watched you a little, you did really well.”

Stiles blushes a little at the praise. “Thanks, though I’ll probably be unable to move tomorrow, and I didn’t even do the self-defence.”

“It won’t be so bad with a good cool-down. C’mon, you too, Cap, Hale,” Clint says. He leads them through almost fifteen minutes of yoga stretches before allowing them a hot shower.

“What will we do with our evening?” Stiles wonders once they’re dressed and ready to go. Suddenly the hours seem very vast, even though he’s exhausted. He misses his dad and Lydia fiercely.

“Stark has sent a car,” Clint says after a look at his phone. “He thought that you’d feel homesick and proposed that you spend tonight and the next day with him and be sent back here tomorrow evening.”

Stiles looks at Derek. “What do you think?”

“I’ll come back tomorrow morning, if that’s okay,” the werewolf says, “but I think it’d be good for you to be with the others. Maybe you should even move back to the tower. You didn’t really sign up for nonstop training and I know that you want to spend more time with Tony and Pepper.”

“But I don’t want to leave you here alone,” Stiles protests. “This having your back thing works both ways. You’re under my protection and SHIELD needs to know that. I mean,” he stutters, suddenly mortified at his presumption, “such as it is. Which, yeah, not much, but still.”

“It will be fine, Stiles,” Steve interjects before Stiles can put his foot in his mouth in even further. “I promise. If Derek likes we can share rooms, and whenever he wants to go out to meet you, I’ll find a way to make it happen.”

Stiles eyes them both for a moment, weighing his own desires against Derek’s need to learn something useful and be with someone who just _gets_ him. Even if it means leaving him out of his sight and trusting someone else with his safety.

Then he realizes that Derek is a grown-ass man who is allowed to make his own decisions and really doesn’t need a mouthy teenager's approval. That he’s still looking for it is beyond humbling and Stiles suddenly feels a little ill. His hands get clammy and his heart thumps faster in his chest.

“If we’re doing this, I’ll find a way to keep tabs on you,” he says thickly, hoping that he’s not overstepping Derek’s boundaries. “You get one scratch when you’re not training and I’ll know and do something about it. Or Tony will, because he’s that kind of guy. Alright?”

“Alright,” Derek agrees. The tension leaves his whole body and a small smile flirts with his lips. Stiles has never seen him this relaxed. “Thanks.”

“We should leave,” Clint says, ending the somewhat tender moment. “Apparently Stark has made reservations and doesn’t feel like waiting for his bifteki.”

“Greek, yum. Are you coming?” Stiles looks expectantly at Steve and Clint.

“No, we have a mission tonight. Raincheck?” Steve replies hopefully.

“Of course. Come back safe and we’ll have Greek together.” Stiles really, really wants the both of them to come back in one piece. He’s made his peace with Clint; he just knows that he’s a thoroughly decent guy underneath all of that snarky and suspicious exterior.

Clint escorts them to where Tony’s car is waiting and off they are to whatever restaurant has caught Tony’s fancy now. 

**End of chapter 2**


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm back again; sorry for the long wait! I'm not sure I like it, un-science-y person that I am, but I hope you'll like it regardless. Have fun! :)

Chapter 3 

 

Upon approaching the table, Stiles greets Lydia with a hug, Pepper with a warm handshake and Tony with a goofy nerd bro-fist.

“Thanks for the invitation,” he says with an embarrassed little smile. “How did you know I was feeling homesick?”

“JARVIS monitors your calls, in case some psycho is trying to stalk you and Hale,” Tony replies, unconcerned at Pepper’s gusty, long-suffering sigh. “You talked a lot with the sheriff last night and wowed him with your flight with me, so I thought it'd be good to distract you a little." 

"Thanks, man, I appreciate it." Stiles sits down next to Tony and tugs Derek down onto the free chair on his other side. "It's strange not having my dad around." 

"I can't relate but you're welcome," Tony replies casually, shrugging Stiles' thanks off. 

"Careful, Tony, your philantroph is showing," Pepper teases him and smacks a loving, red kiss onto his cheek. "If you're not careful, I'll actually believe that you can be a _real_ mom one day." 

Tony goes still and then, hilariously, turns a rather lovely shade of pink. It only spurs on Pepper to give him another kiss, this time a little less PG. Stiles gets the impression that children or any variations of such haven't been a big topic for the couple yet. 

"Not in front of the kids," Tony finally demands as they come up for air, his hair mussed and lips swollen. Tellingly, he doesn't take his hands from Pepper's waist. "But in case you want to go home ..." 

"No, Tony," Pepper says kindly, "I want to stay here and have dinner with you and our guests. To be honest, I've been looking forward to it. My day with Lydia was very productive, and Derek, the ad department has gone through the raw material of your photo shoot. They're prepared to make you an offer. Do you have a couple of hours during the next days to go over the details?" 

The werewolf has obviously already forgotten the photo shoot and isn't very keen on signing a contract, but with a little arguing Stiles can convince Derek to stay the next morning and get it over with. 

"Besides, Steve and Clint might need a little rest after tonight. The Cap actually doesn't have your healing mojo, you know. Compared to you, he's just a squishy little shrimp." Stiles gulps down his water. "And now on to my lovely queen. You were awfully quiet today, Lyds. Did Pepper blow your mind?" 

Lydia and Pepper share a look, and then Lydia does something wholly atypical: she squees like a little girl and actually _bounces_ in her seat. 

"Oh my god, you have no idea," she gushes. "We first visited the engineers on their floors. The practical part isn't really for me, but Stiles, the labs! The _computers_! With this kind of power calculating new theorems will be child's play! I used JARVIS to write my equations down and he's hands down the most sophisticated software I've _ever_ had the pleasure to work with." 

"She already made a couple new friends in the department," Pepper smiles and looks at Lydia fondly. "Should you accept our offer, there'll be absolutely no dearth of tutors, and it has nothing to do with your looks." 

"Yes, it does, but she also destroyed Carter's pet theory, the one for our improved motor function for That Big Thing, so there's that," Tony retorts, casually dunking a piece of bread into olive oil and munching on it. "Nevermind that _I've_ told Carter for months that he's wasting his time." 

"It's an interesting project," Lydia admits, "but something about the calculations doesn't seem right. It's kind of like how bumblebees fly but physically shouldn't be able to."

"You mean because their mass is too big and the wing size too small?" Derek asks. 

"Exactly. Even after I found that one error, the math is kind of ... frayed, but I don't know _how_. The engineers just can't make the drafts work, even though everything seems in order, more or less." Lydia huffs as if this personally offends her.

"Perhaps we should leave it at that for tonight. It's not a topic for the dinner table," Pepper gently chides them. 

"Which reminds me that the redheaded kid has better signed the Industrial Espionage NDA." Tony pops another olive oil-soaked piece of bread in his mouth. 

Lydia smirks as Pepper reassures him, "Of course she did. Oh, there come the menus. Please, order whatever you like. The chef is prepared to accommodate your dietary requirements." 

Hearing this, Stiles and Lydia go wild and order vegan gyro and bifteki, potato wedges, a huge platter with starters, including tsatsiki, and another just with a salad spread. The others are more conservative with their choices though no less enthusiastic and everybody is looking forward to the food. 

While they wait, Tony claims Stiles for his personal engineering den, although Pepper insists on also showing him where Lydia spends her time, just so he won't worry about her. 

"I don't want you to feel as if we've stolen her from you," she explains. "And you might find something of interest there as well. It's not all theory, to the contrary. The engineers often take Tony's early drafts and run with them before they're fully developed, just to see what else they might make of them. Half of our patents are generated this way."

"Small stuff for easy money," Tony scoffs. "But I might have to take back That Big Thing. Carter's costing us too much ressources by now."

"Maybe it shouldn't have left the drawing board yet," Pepper agrees, "though I remember quite clearly that it was _you_ who asked him to do some tests."

"Almost six months ago. He should've eliminated the bugs by now or admitted defeat." The salads arrive and Tony waits until the waiters have left before speaking again. "I have a couple of things to do tomorrow, but for this I'll make the time. Your eyes will pop, kid," he promises. "Other kid, yours too, if you've got nothing better to do."

"I do have a name," Lydia informs him tolerantly.

"Unimportant until you actually come work for me," Tony counters. He grabs his fork and spears a good portion of his salad with it. "Maybe even then. We'll see how brilliant you are when your high school finally spits you out."

"Tony," Pepper sighs. "Be nice."

"What?" At Pepper's accusing stare, he repeats, "What? I _am_ nice. Would I feed the kids if I weren't nice? Or order half a dozen microwaves for the express purpose of blowing them up? Or get the car ready for Hale to take out in the city? I even got him custom made plates."

" _Tony_!"

oOo 

"I can't believe Tony actually put _ALPHA-D_ on your plates," Stiles snorts when they've finally made it back into their rooms at Stark Tower. "Subtlety isn't really his forte, is it?"

"You tell me, you're his long lost brother from another mother," Derek retorts and rolls his eyes. He throws his leather jacket onto the hook. "Though the car is worth it."

Stiles has to agree. All his extremeties are still pleasantly humming after the adrenaline rush of accelerating from 0 to 60 in less than four seconds. "Totally. My dad will never ticket you for speeding ever again once he's driven it himself."

Derek smiles smugly.

"But ... _Alpha D_." Stiles breaks out into a fit of giggles. "Oh my god! Tony is the worst."

"Still worth it," Derek shrugs and then kind of _poses_ casually. "And he's not exactly wrong, is he?"

The giggles become full-blown laughter at that, Derek's sense of dry, evil humour hitting Stiles like a ton of bricks. He's dimly aware that he's making terrible fun of the other man but he just can't stop, not when Derek steps up the game by also whipping off his shirt and sauntering into the kitchen area to get himself a beer like a world-class male underwear model.

Minutes later, flushed and heaving from laughing his spleen up, Stiles has to admit that no, Tony is definitely not wrong, Derek is thoroughly aesthetically pleasing in every way that matters. In the name of self-preservation, however, Stiles decides to keep that to himself and just enjoy the banter for what it is.

Later, after calling all their important people in Beacon Hills, they hang around in front of the TV and watch MacGyver re-runs. Stiles loves the series but finally all the running around is catching up to him and he nods off every couple of minutes.

"Go to bed, Stiles," Derek finally says and gives Stiles' shoulder a small shake.

"I'll sleep right here," Stiles mumbles. His eyes are heavy and his brain for once is slow like a Tuesday night on Beacon Hill's main street. "Just leave me here, go save yourself. You can still reach the fabled dreamlands."

Derek snorts, throws Stiles' arm around his shoulder and hoists him up. "I'm not listening to your whining tomorrow, so come on."

With barely any help from Stiles, Derek manages to drag him to his bedroom. There, he helps Stiles to stand on his own two feet by holding onto his bizeps.

"Go. To. Sleep," he growls again and reinforces the order with an aggressive cheek rub.

"Ow, sourwolf!" Stiles complains, raising his hands to keep Derek's scruff away from his sensitive skin. To get even, he mashes his palms against the werewolf's cheeks and rubs briskly, briefly forming hilarious grimaces. It ends soon enough when Derek snaps his teeth at his fingers. "Ugh, go away. I don't need your tough love, you heathen."

"I really think you do," Derek replies. Quick as lightning he grabs Stiles' hands and gives Stiles' other cheek also a bristly rub. With a last smirk, he pushes Stiles backwards, making him land on his bed. "Sleep. Now. If I catch you out and about again, I'll eat you."

Grumbling and feeling unjustly manhandled and abused, Stiles nonetheless scrambles out of his clothes and under the comforter. Not five minutes later he's deeply asleep and dreaming of dying trees and sassy black wolves with hedgehog-like bristles.

oOo

If there ever was any doubt about Tony Stark being a workaholic, they are dispelled as soon as JARVIS rouses Stiles at seven in the morning and sends him to Tony's workshop.

Grumbling a little, Stiles complies, but before he leaves he gets revenge for Derek's cheek rubs the night before by surprise-pawing his palms all over his face and neck. Derek looks stunned at Stiles' audacity and therefore gives Stiles precious seconds to book it.

"See you later, Sourwolf!" he cackles and slams the bedroom door. Derek's growl is music in his ears.

In the elevator, Stiles bounces on his toes and says, not quite seriously, "So, JARVIS, now that I'm up, what's for breakfast? You think I might be able to step out and get something? "

"That won't be necessary, Mr. Stilinski. Sir has ordered breakfast for you," the A.I. assures him. "I was also instructed to officially inform you that every non-frivolous purchase on your credit card is to be re-routed to Sir's account."

Stiles can barely keep his mouth from dropping open. He wants to argue and tell JARVIS that he's definitely not angling for Tony's money, especially now that he doesn't even need it, but he knows enough about Tony by now to realize that he would only waste his breath.

"... Okay. Only frivolous purchases," Stiles confirms after a moment of silent struggling.

"Indeed, sir. You have reached your destination. Have a nice day."

As Stiles steps out of the elevator and into Tony's workshop, he's sure that he isn't imagining the knowing tone in JARVIS' voice. It makes him smile.

Dummy greets him with a fist bump and several Socky robots swarm him halfway through to the back. They follow him like a flock of small, squawking penguins, occasionally bumping against his trainers and touching his calves with their fragile little arms.

"What happened?" Stiles asks by way of greeting, pointing to the little robot army. "Did you look away for a second and they multiplied?"

"I told JARVIS to go through a variation sequence I've written for our drones. They're all a little different and I wouldn't step on them if I were you," Tony replies and waves him over. "Hold this, I don't have enough hands."

Curious, Stiles watches as Tony fits an unwieldy, electronic part into another, larger part and first puts screws in and then welds everything together. He even lets Stiles do the last small part of welding.

They're well into assembling another part when Happy, Tony's chief of security, comes in bearing smoothies and breakfast burritos.

"Morning," he says cheerfully. "Scrambled eggs for you, Tony, and tofu for Mr. Stilinski."

"Seriously, why is everybody calling the kid Mister?" Tony complains. "JARVIS I understand, he's an uptight little prick, but humans? Come on, he looks like he's twelve or something."

"Hey. I look at least like fourteen," Stiles pouts. 

"At least," Happy echoes and grins. He offers his huge paw to Stiles. "If Stiles is okay for you, you can call me Happy."

Stiles grabs the hand and shakes it. "Sure, that'd be great. Thanks, man. Hey, you wouldn't know if Derek will make it to his contract signing?"

Happy's grin turns mischievous. "Pepper and Miss Lydia will take it upon themselves to escort him there later. I think Miss Lydia wants to make sure that he's not being objectified too much. I heard the guys and girls from marketing pulled straws when they discussed who would get to do Hale's contract signing."

"Pfff, all that animal magnetism is wasted on him," Tony says. "Though I noticed that you've got some nice stubble burn going on there, kid. Is there something I should know, and with know I mean ignore?"

Stiles pulls a face and touches his still slightly tender skin. "Unless you mean being tortured by way of sandpapering, then no."

"Pity. You know that you're legal in New York City, right?" Tony grabs his burrito and peels away the wrapping paper. "Anyway, eat quickly so I can show you what Socky's little siblings can do."

Happy waves goodbye and leaves them to it and Stiles hurries through his meal so he won't miss a second of Tony's demonstration. Unfortunately he hasn't counted on being the test subject for the drones. Suffering through repeated ambushes, complete with being spider-webbed and doused with scented mist that will be some kind of narcotic in the final version, is not what he had in mind, though Tony makes up for it in the end.

After he's stopped laughing.

He's also filmed the whole thing but Stiles is quick to point out that he'll let Tony rot in a circle of mountain ash that no-one but him can break if he doesn't delete everything.

"You wouldn't," Tony says smugly. "You like me too much."

"Nice try." Stiles jiggles his tiny zip bag of mountain ash. Around him, the little robots ineffectively try to get through the ash circle he's already thrown around himself. "You lose the videos and I'll lose the ash. Deal or no deal?"

Tony stares at Stiles. 

Stiles stares back.

"You been bullied, kid?" Tony finally asks.

"Like you wouldn't believe," Stiles admits, raising his chin in silent challenge. "So, sorry not sorry for spoiling your fun, but this is not gonna fly."

"Yeah, I get it." Tony rakes a hand through his hair. "JARVIS, delete everything."

"Even the copies on your secret server?" the A.I. wants to know.

Tony narrows his eyes. "Thanks for blabbing out my secrets, and yes. Even those. Chop-chop, time's a-wasting." 

Seconds later JARVIS confirms the deletion of the videos and Tony sniffs when Stiles is still a little wary.

"You can come out now. Put that stuff away. You, Socky One to Nine, piss off. No discussions, you can play with Dummy." He shoos the protesting bots away. "Come _on_ , kid. Once we're done here we'll settle on a time for a little flight lesson in my Mark 2, but right now I need to show you That Big Thing and explain why it should work but doesn't. Maybe you can see where my genius failed."

Stiles lets Tony cajole and pester a little longer, but inwardly he's pleased that Tony respects his boundaries enough not to ask questions and that Tony also remembers promising Stiles some time with one of his suits. 

They sit on the chairs and follow a presentation that JARVIS has put together for Tony.

This time, Stiles can't keep his mouth shut. "You're trying to build a _flying city_?" he cries. "What the hell _for_?"

"It's not a city," Tony huffs. "It's more like an aircraft carrier, only up there. A helicarrier."

"Which is big enough to carry an army around the world," Stiles sags back into his chair. "Jesus, that's a bad idea."

"Maybe the universe has the same opinion," Tony grumbles. "Look, all the calculations should technically work, especially after your girlfriend found a mistake. We calculated everything, the weight, the energy requirements, how the air pressure affects the carrier, how much wind it can bear and so forth. JARVIS says that everything checks out. Physics shouldn't be against us, but it is."

Stiles watches the animation and shudders. "Well, I can't believe something that weighs as much as ten aircraft carriers combined would be able to rise without rockets, nevermind stay afloat. These rotors are huge which means a lot of storm underneath. And dead birds. Maybe even dead holiday pilots. Oh, and even if the air was generally dense enough to keep that thing up, there are air holes literally everywhere. What are you going to do against sagging or tilting? I mean, it's scary when it works, but I really, really don't want to be close if this thing fails and crashes. _Jesus_." 

"But that's the thing! It shouldn't fail! We have unlimited energy thanks to the Tesseract. Remember that alien cube thingy that we found?" Tony gesticulates toward the screen and JARVIS pulls up the plans for the inside of the helicarrier. "We calculated everything, air density, weight of stuff and people on board, buffers, stabilizers, failsaves, failsaves for the failsaves and disaster routines _if_ a major loss of control should occur." He clicks a couple of keys and a video comes on. "Meet Carter and the other sub geniuses, and the newest helicarrier model. They put it together last night."

Fascinated, Stiles watches as a slender, bald scientist shows the model to the camera and explains the weight and size and all the other statistics. He then puts it into a tank where the air density is altered to match the scale of the experiment.

With baited breath, Stiles watches as they turn on the electronics, check the systems and start the motors. Four rotors start whirring. For a couple of seconds it looks as if the model would actually make it and soar up in the air, but after a few inches it starts to wobble and dip, the failsaves and stabilizers obviously not able to keep it on an even keel. Still the scientists urge it to rise higher, only to have the model tilt and crash down spectacularly, cracking the floor in the process.

"Yep, air's definitely too thin for such a huge mofo," Stiles says and leans back. "If you can't make it weigh less, I think nothing less than magic can save That Big Thing from its doom."

 

**End of chapter 3**


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the long wait, especially since this is such a short chapter. Also, if science people are reading this, I apologize for everything. Just assume that Tony is genius enough to make everything work somehow, haha. 
> 
> Thanks for your patience, as always. The next chapter hopefully won't take this long!

Stiles knows as soon as the words are out that he should not have spoken them. It doesn't matter that he was exasperated and just blurted them out; Tony has heard them and will run with them and heaven help them all if he manages to convince Stiles to help him. 

"I can hear you thinking, kid," Tony says. He's not looking at Stiles as he fiddles with a small screwdriver. "And yeah, I'll ask you to help me, but I promise-" He takes a deep breath and his voice is unexpectedly fierce as he continues, "I promise that you'll have _every say_ in how far we'll go. Whatever provisions you think are necessary, I'll abide by them. Because That Thing _is_ huge, and dangerous, and shouldn't ever fall into the wrong hands. Okay?" 

"Tony," Stiles croaks. "I don't know if I even _can_. Also, what if Fury has the same idea and tries to make me? Or worse, what if other people hear about this and _they_ try to make me? They could hurt my family or my friends and then I'll be responsible for blowing up New York-" 

"No-one will know and New York won't get blown up," Tony interrupts him, a warm hand on Stiles' shoulder. "JARVIS will delete everything about this conversation and we'll work on That Big Thing alone until it's ready. It might not even work, but if it does ... well, I _am_ a genius. They'll believe it when I tell them that I worked it out eventually." 

"What about Fury?" Stiles asks. Fear is still making his limbs heavy. Ice-cold shivers run up and down his back and make his hair stand on end. "He's not stupid." 

"Yeah, exactly. Even if he suspected your involvement, he wouldn't announce it. He doesn't like grubby hands any more than I do." Tony finally turns a little and eyes Stiles. "Besides, I'd like to see anyone try and grab you. I bet you could make them dance jigs if you wanted to, or make them see spiders crawl all over them." 

That makes Stiles smile a little. "Next time someone tries, I'll check." 

"Good man. Now, you said something about the air being too thin, even though our calculations say otherwise. How about more rotors to compensate better? I could combine it with some kind of atmospheric shield to fill air holes. Breathing might be a problem for the folks on deck, but that's just cosmetics ..." 

Stiles allows himself to relax a little as Tony prattles on and lets his mind wander. As bad as getting That Big Thing to work would be, he knows that he won't be able to deny Tony his help. He _does_ like him too much and he trusts him to do the right thing. 

As Tony meanders through a thought process about atmospheric disturbances and chemical compounds therein, Stiles has a sudden brain wave and tunes back in. 

"Wait a minute," he says, blinking. "You said that you have an unlimited energy source at your disposal, right?" 

"Yep, and good thing too. That thing will be an energy hog like nothing you've ever seen. Why?" Curiously, Tony looks from his holograms to Stiles. "You got an idea?" 

"I don't know, it might be something for your science people to figure out." Stiles girds his loins and hopes that he won't talk complete nonsense. "So, if you've got unlimited energy and nearly unlimited brain power ... how about using that energy to make a force field? Not just a thin shield but a real, huge bubble? Essentially, we need thicker air to keep TBT up, right? Why not install some generator thingies that, I don't know, make a different atmosphere for TBT to stay afloat and at the same time eliminate the air holes around it? It would also keep at least birds away, I guess, if there's some kind of pressure behind it. Right? I'm not sure how this would work, what with the thicker air probably not staying were you need it, but, yeah. It's still science, just cool science. If, you know, you can make it work. Somehow." 

Tony stares at him. 

"Impossible?" Stiles asks with a wince and rubs his neck in embarrassment. "Sorry." 

"Kid, shut up. Get your girlfriend in here. I need to talk to a fresh brain. JARVIS, order us coffee or whatever the redheaded one likes to drink. Also, tell Pepper that I'm busy." 

Stiles shuffles to the side so he won't disturb Tony's slightly manic pacing. "Uhm, should I go?" 

Tony waves distractedly. "Yes, go. Play with Sourpuss, he should be out of contract hell by now. JARVIS, you know what to do." 

"Yes, sir. If you'll follow me, Mr. Stilinski? I'll lead you to Mr. Hale." 

Bewildered, Stiles lets himself be herded into the elevator. Once there and with the door closed, he clears his throat. 

"You probably don't need me telling you this, but you'll make sure Tony won't blow up the tower, right?" he asks. "Or Pepper, or himself."

JARVIS is quick to answer. "Of course I will, Mr. Stilinski. Your concern is noted, however, and I'm sure Sir will appreciate it." 

The elevator spits out Stiles on the Imagery level. At nearly ten in the morning it's business as usual with models, photographers and staff milling around. Stiles wonders for a second why Pepper would have Derek sign his contract here but then decides that they might as well have wanted to make use of the opportunity and let Derek work his first gig. 

His assumption is proven correct as he finds Derek, Lydia and Pepper in one of the studios. He wears some kind of functional sports clothes and looks unfairly attractive in doing so. The not exactly small troupe of staffers around the photographer seems to think so as well. 

"Stiles!" Lydia greets him. "JARVIS told us that you'd be coming up. What have you done now? Why would Tony need me when he has his minions?" 

"You'll see," Stiles replies distractedly. He gapes a little at Derek's bulging biceps. "You won't like it, though." 

Pepper, who has followed Lydia, smiles encouragingly. "I know what this is about and I have confidence that you'll be good company for Tony, Lydia. Just help him bounce his ideas around." She then turns to Stiles. "Please excuse the impromptu photo session. Our model for today has food poisoning and Derek was kind enough to step in. As you can see, he's quite a natural!" 

"He also needs a manager and of course he can't be arsed to choose one from the herd of his in-house admirers," Lydia says. "You should pick one and end their suffering, Stiles. It's pathetic." 

"Why me? You do know that he'll be back in California soon and won't have much time for modelling jobs?" Stiles counters. "Also, we really don't need some stranger seeing more than they should if they decide to follow him around. We couldn't really prevent that, you know." 

Lydia sighs impatiently. "And yet, as you can see, Derek will be swamped with offers. They _will_ try and put him to work, no matter where he lives. He needs a manager to keep the irrelevant things away from him." 

"Well, if I could choose, I'd make Boyd act as his manager. Would serve him right," Stiles mutters. "And Erica his personal assistant. She'd scare everybody right off but force her to play nice. Finally." 

"Aren't they friends of yours?" Pepper asks. She lowers her voice. "The ones that got caught by ... you know who?" 

Lydia purses her lips. "Yes, and since they're not available anymore, you will pick someone, Stiles. Or do it yourself, I don't care as long as I don't have to see Derek bungle his way through business calls. And now excuse me, the resident genius requires my attention." 

With a flip of her hair she flounces off and leaves Stiles standing with Pepper. 

"She isn't always like this," he says unconvincingly. 

Pepper only laughs. "You don't need to apologize on her behalf, Stiles. I live with Tony, I'm used to it. Besides, I think she's right. Derek is many things, but he's not comfortable standing up for himself. And apparently he's also not willing to choose a stranger to represent him, which is understandable, considering his history." A thoughtful look crosses her face. "Stiles ... it's a lot to ask, but since you are already acting as his manager, at least sometimes ... do you think Derek would be comfortable having you as intermediary? This way he could benefit from a competent manager and also know that you have his best interests at heart." 

"It might go over better," Stiles admits, even though he's not sure that he'll have the time for this. "I'll talk to him about it. And, uh, thanks. For being so understanding. I know how annoying it must be." 

Pepper's smile is gentle as she replies, "He's worth it, Stiles. He deserves a chance at life away from Beacon Hills. Besides, it has advantages to have him tied to Stark Industries and not always be available. It'll make his run less profitable, but with time, he could well become one of our more successful signature faces. He's just one of those types. Let's take it one job at a time and see how it goes." 

It takes some effort not to blurt out how much he wants to hug her just then, but Stiles manages and they spend the last minutes of the shoot in companionable silence. 

 

**End of Chapter 4**


End file.
